


Time to Prove

by MagicMarker



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Ankh-Morpork, Baker!Thorin, Bilbo Baggins Loves Food, Everyone is just really passionate about bread, Gen, M/M, and made Thorin a Pratchett Dwarf, basically i just dropped them in Ankh-Morpork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicMarker/pseuds/MagicMarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Got a prompt the other day that was just "Bagginshield; baking" and well my mind just ran with it.  So today, to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the death of Sir Terry Pratchett I give to you: Erebor X Ankh-Morpork, Bagginshield Edition.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Time to Prove

**Author's Note:**

> Got a prompt the other day that was just "Bagginshield; baking" and well my mind just ran with it. So today, to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the death of Sir Terry Pratchett I give to you: Erebor X Ankh-Morpork, Bagginshield Edition.

Thorin wiped his sweaty brow on the hem of his apron. It was finished. After years of painstaking research, translation problems, and trial and error, he had done it. He’d had to barter with Unseen University to borrow their hyper-sensitive scales. He’d had to send away to Uberwald for the right strain of yeast (something he’d been afraid to hope still existed). He’d completely broken down and rebuilt the oven thrice over, but it had all been worth it.

Thorin Oakenshield had managed to forge his great-grandmother’s battle bread.

It weighed two stone at least, which was the first good sign. And it had that characteristic cracking across the top that would slice your finger should you be daft enough to stick it in there. It smelled a little bit like bread and a lotta bit like a quarry, and Thorin couldn’t be more proud. 

Baking for battle was an old dwarf tradition, and after moving to Ankh-Morpork, he found that some of the dwarves who lived there had forgotten. After all, the city was at some sort of peace; battle bread was hardly needed when there was a police force and a judicial system with which to settle your grievances. Nevertheless it wouldn’t do for their culture to dwindle into nothingness, so Thorin Oakenshield had opened the Ankh-Morpork Dwarf Bread museum. 

It was a bit modest, taking up only the front half of the small storefront he’d been able to purchase, but that was fine by Thorin. He’d curated a thorough selection despite his limited means, and it left him more room in the back end to pursue his family’s legacy. Everyone back home had told him he was wasting his time, that he should go back to something sure and solid like mining, or armaments. But now he’d finally done it, after a life’s worth of work. He'd proved everyone wrong. Thorin leaned back on the counter gods alive, what would he do with all this newfound free time?

He wasn’t sure what would come next, but a tinkling bell indicated a visitor had arrived. He could at least deal with that as his trebuchet loaf cooled. “Hello,” he called, peeking his head through the doorway. “Be there in a moment.” 

After throwing his apron in the corner and smoothing his hands over his trousers, Thorin walked into the museum. “Welcome to the Ankh-Morpork Dwarf Bread Museum. I’m Thorin Oakenshield, curator. Please let me know if you have any questions, and ah… That’ll be five pence.”

A Hobbit stood with his hands on his hips, brows pinched together. “I’m confused.”

Thorin waited for a clarification, strained smile plastered on, but when none came he prompted, “Yes?”

“I didn’t believe it when that copper Carrot told me, but here it is. A museum dedicated to bread.”

“Yes.”

“Why?!”

“Why? Because they’re cultural artifacts!” Thorin blustered, taking a step back. “A history of my people! Our heritage!”

“But it’s bread. Why hasn’t anybody eaten it?” The hobbit hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat and shook his head. “Put the _recipes_ in a museum or some such, don’t waste the food. Aren’t you afraid of pests?”

Thorin took a deep breath. It was all right. He just didn’t know. That was what the museum was for, after all, to build cross-cultural understanding. “No one, rat nor dwarf, could stomach these. They aren’t for eating, they’re for fighting. They’re weapons, Master Hobbit.”

“What.”

“Aye, they’re mostly for firing out of slingshots or trebuchets or so on, though my gran had a wonderful recipe for biscuits that were so sharp you could spin them like a discus and take four men’s heads off before they even realized you’d moved.” Thorin smiled at the memory. “Ah, and my cousin Dwalin could bake a baguette you could break down the door with. It’s a mighty fine tradition.”

The Hobbit’s face was a picture of horror. “Tradition? It’s a _tragedy!_ Bread is for eating, not for fighting. What do you serve your meat with then, hm?”

“Beer.”

“Beer.” The Hobbit threw up his hands and spun away from Thorin, then paused at one of the uncovered plinths that displayed a muffin from the kitchens of the Low King. A sign just below read _Touch me!_ He picked it up and rapped it against the stone pillar. The quiet clack made him groan in despair. “Ugh, look at this!”

“Yes, look at that,” Thorin replied, chest puffed out to beat all. “Look at the beautiful domed top. Look how full it’s gotten. That is true baking skill.” He took a step towards the Hobbit and took the muffin out of his hand, placing it gently back where it belonged. “Look, Master Hobbit, we may have two different ideas on what bread should be, but please try to appreciate the craftsmanship. Dwarf bread is unlike any bread you can find here in the city. We simply don’t believe in that floppy, chewy, grainy business. It’s disgusting.”

“On that we can agree,” he said, his earlier bluster somewhat deflated. “I’m Bilbo, by the way, Bilbo Baggins. I’m from Quirm, and moving to Ankh-Morpork was the worst culinary decisions of my entire life. Now if you ask me, bread is meant to have a nice, crisp crust that breaks open to reveal light, airy, melt-in-your-mouth goodness! Not something you could use to stop up a wound.” Bilbo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Alas.\, what I wouldn't give to prove to the city what can really be done with some flour and yeast.”

Thorin looked at Bilbo for a long moment, considering what he’d just been told. Perhaps the strange Hobbit wasn’t so bad. “This bread of yours. Breaks open, you say?”

“I, ah… Yes?”

“Could they be, perhaps, filled with something? Before or after baking, makes no matter. I’m thinking that if we work together this just might make for an excellent grenade.”

Bilbo tapped his foot, hand on his chin. “Well I suppose so, yes.”

Now this was good news. A smile broke out across Thorin’s face. Perhaps this was the next step he was meant to take. He’d already preserved his people’s history in a well-regarded museum, a veritable city icon as Captain Carrot would tell it. He’d reverse-engineered his great-gran’s trebuchet loaf. Maybe now it was time to look forward and add something new to the craft. He could send it back to Uberwald, and the Low King. He could go down in history, really make an impact--

A quiet cough broke Thorin out of his reverie. 

Bilbo smiled, a faint pink tinge on his cheeks. “I could, ah. I perhaps I could show you sometime?” 

“Really?”

“Yes, and in return perhaps you could show me how to properly throw a—a scone.” Bilbo twisted his toe on the floor, looked down, and then up again. 

Thorin chuckled. “Well, Master Hobbit, scones are incredibly difficult to master. But perhaps we could start you on biscuits?”

Bilbo’s face lit up and Thorin couldn’t help but grin right back. “It’s not every day you find someone as passionate about bread. I’m glad to meet you, Bilbo Baggins.”

“And I you, Thorin Oakenshield!” Bilbo bounced on his heels and turned towards the door. “I, ah, I need to be off, but I will be back soon. And I’ll bring all my recipe books!”

He trotted to the door but before he could pull it open, Thorin cleared his throat. “Um, Bilbo?”

“Yes?” He paused with his hand on the knob, and looked back at Thorin with such open eagerness that Thorin almost hated to burst the bubble.

“That’ll be five pence.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know via kudos or comments, or you can find me [here on tumblr](http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com). Thanks for reading!


End file.
